


𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐒

by morbidlypicturesque



Series: Damned By Default [2]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV), The Godfather (1972 1974 1990), The Godfather - Mario Puzo
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Eventual Romance, F/M, Italian Character(s), Italian Mafia, Love Triangles, M/M, New York City, Organized Crime, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Racism, Sexual Content, Strong Female Characters, The Peaky Blinders - Freeform, Underage Drinking, Women In Power, family business, the crossover you didn't know you needed, two iconic families together can it get better?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:28:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28692471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morbidlypicturesque/pseuds/morbidlypicturesque
Summary: "𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐬, 𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭."━━━     or in which vittoria shelby walks in the footsteps of her parents and straight into the arms of a gangster - history truly had a peculiar way of repeating itself.the godfather : part  ɪ / peaky blinders aubloodlines series part ?michael corleone x vittoria shelby ( oc )© morbidlypicturesque
Relationships: Kay Adams Corleone/Michael Corleone, Michael Corleone/Original Female Character(s), Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Tommy Shelby/Caterina Cardinale, Tommy Shelby/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Damned By Default [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759483
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	1. LEGACIES

  
  


**_"_** _YOU CAN'T_ ** _R U N_** _AWAY_ ━━━━━ 

━━━━━ _FROM WHO YOU_ ** _A R E ._** **"**

𝐥 𝐞 𝐠 𝐚 𝐜 𝐢 𝐞 𝐬 **_!_**  
  
  
  
  
  


 **(** _noun, plural_ **leg·a·cies.**  
 _a part of your_ **_history_ ** _, something handed down from your_ **_ancestors._ ** **)**  
  


**IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE.**   
  
  
  
  


_monica belucci_  
 _as_ **𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀** **𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐁𝐘**

  
ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵉᵛⁱˡ'ˢ ᵈᵃᵘᵍʰᵗᵉʳ

  
  
━━━━━ 『 **THE CORLEONE'S** **』** ━━━━━

 ** _(_** _𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨_ _𝘪𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥_ _,_ _𝘯𝘦𝘸_ _𝘺𝘰𝘳𝘬_ **_)_**

****

  
  
  
_al pacino_  
 _as_ **michael corleone**

 _marlon brando_  
as **don vito corleone**

 _robert duvall_  
 _as_ **tom hagen**

 _james caan_  
 _as_ **sonny corleone**

 _talia shire_  
 _as_ **connie corleone**  
  
  
  


━━━━━ 『 **THE SHELBY'S** **』** ━━━━━

 ** _(_** _𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭_ _𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩_ _,_ _𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘩𝘢𝘮_ ** _)_**

****

  
_cillian murphy_  
 _as_ **thomas shelby**

 _madchen amick_  
 _as_ **caterina shelby**

 _fionn whitehead_  
 _as_ **charles shelby**

 _sophie rundle_  
 _as_ **ada shelby**

 _finn cole_  
 _as_ **michael gray**

  
  


━━━━━ 『 **ALSO** **FEATURING** **』** ━━━━━

 ** _(_** 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 _&_ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘧𝘧 **_)_**

  
_dan stevens_  
 _as_ **richard 'richie' sterling**

 _aiden turner_  
 _as_ **anthony 'tony' varone**  
  
  
  
  


**& &&**   
  
  
  


**other godfather & peaky blinders characters **   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑 i ** _do not_** _own Peaky Blinders_  
 _nor The Godfather saga, any of their characters_  
 _or plot. All credit goes to the BBC, Mario Puzo_  
 _and Francis Ford Coppola. All the original_  
 _characters;_ ** _Caterina Cardinale, Vittoria_**  
 ** _Shelby_** _and_ ** _Charles Shelby,_** _and the plot_  
 _lines of my_ ** _Bloodlines_** _series, belong to me._  
 _This story is an extension to_ ** _[Bloodlines](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20121499) _**  
_you do not have to read it in order to read_  
 ** _Legacies_** _, but I would strongly advise you do,_  
 _for the sake of context and easier understanding._  
 _Vittoria's year of birth is changed from 1925 to_  
 _1923 for easier plot building, hence the AU sign._  
  


𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 _this story will contain themes_  
 _such as_ : **violence, character death,**  
 **mature content, triggering topics,**  
 **extreme profanity and racial slurs,**  
 **drug and alcohol use & abuse **(...)  
  
  


 **A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR**   
_although I am nowhere nearly finished with_  
 _the saga of Caterina Cardinale and her_  
 _life, I promised to publish the preview of_  
 _this story which I simply cannot wait to_  
 _share with you!_  
 _that means I'll be putting it on hold until_  
 _I reach the second instalment of the Cardinale_  
 _series — until then please do show support to_  
 _[Bloodlines!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20121499) _  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


© morbidlypicturesque 2021  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. 𝐢.𝐢. 𝟏𝟗𝟒𝟎

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢. 𝐥𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐚
> 
> it. /'fiʎa/ noun. a female child 
> 
> 1\. born to Thomas Shelby OBE and Caterina Shelby ( née Cardinale ) on 9th october 1923, as Vittoria Elizabeth Shelby 
> 
> 2\. if one were to ask Don Vito Corleone how many children he had, he would have told them — four sons;   
>  Santino, Michael, Tom and Fredo, and two darling daughters; Connie and Vittoria

𝐢.𝐢. 𝟏𝟗𝟒𝟎

  
  
  
**BEFORE THE UNFORTUNATE** death of Cousin Michael — if one would call it a _death_ , rather than a foolish, suicidal sacrifice for a country that he did not even live in for the last fifteen years — Vittoria had been in the States only once, though she could not remember it clearly.

She was far too young then, not even three years of age when her mother and father brought her along for a business trip to the great New York City for what was presumed to be a holiday for the newly made family.

It also proved to be the setting stone for the branch of Shelby Company Limited she was set to inherit from the moment she set her foot on the American ground in just a matter of hours.

Vittoria, or as her family preferred to call her – Vicky, leaned on her hand wistfully, watching as the bubbling waves crashed against the side of the iron giant that carried her entire life's possessions into the unknown of the New World.

Her heart clenched every time the ship cut through the waves, or perhaps it was the biting Atlantic air that made her pale cheeks rosy, urging her to tighten the fox fur coat tighter around her body. There was commotion on the deck, and she reckoned she heard some lady say they were close to the shore.

Vittoria wondered what her family was doing. Nothing much had changed, she was sure.

Father was in London at the Ministry of War and mother was most likely with him, if she wasn't at Bletchley Park. Only Charles remained at their family estate, the Arrow House, not of age yet to enlist or follow their parents into the bureaucratic fray that surrounded the British war effort. At fourteen he was still too young to understand why father wore a permanent frown since the day the bells rung for the first time, when the official looking letters bearing the King's stamp arrived for their parents a day later.

Not that father ever wore anything other than an expression of reserved indifference, with occasional genuine smiles reserved for special occasions, or mother.

Thomas Shelby never spoke of his years across the sea, and neither did Uncle Arthur, but Vicky was well aware the horrors of it shaped them to be the men they were today.

It was her mother that set her down on the plush sofa of their living room when she came from school one day, tears welling in her eyes and threatening to spill because of the vile words her classmates threw at her about her ancestry ( _to be half Italian and half Romani, what a terrible thing indeed in the eyes of nasty ten-year-olds_ ) and the rumours surrounding her father's swift rise to power after the First war.

As seriously as you could explain things to a ten-year-old, Mother told her how their family fought tooth and nail to achieve the wealth and privilege they believed they deserved for their hard work, and to create a better future for their children. It was a thorny path, she admitted, one that cost them many people ( _she remembered how Mother's eyes glazed over at the mention of late Uncle John_ ), but a past she will never be ashamed of. Not much later in life Vicky would find out the real truth of her parents' business and understand. It was the way things were done, and it was the way things must remain.

She was a Shelby, and Shelby's never asked for permission.

Aunt Polly was a lost cause from the moment the telegram came in bearing the devastating news. Cousin Michael voluntarily enlisted in the army, when the news of the invasion on Poland made headlines in _The Times_ he received on his desk every morning. Appointing a chairman in his absence, Michael Gray packed only one set of clothes and some sentimental trinkets, and boarded the first ship to England.

He was dead two weeks after his dispatch, on the cold, wet beaches of Normandy.

The message that came from London less than a day later was short and concise — she was to pack, board a transatlantic ship to New York City as soon as possible and take control over the American branch of Shelby Company Ltd., just as Michael intended in his will.

No one save Charlie, cousin Billy and their head housemaid were there to bid her goodbye. It was for the best, she reckoned. How embarrassing it would have been to cry in front of her father.

"If any one of those bloody Yanks over the sea gives you trouble, I'll be on the first ship from Liverpool with all the Blinders to kick their sorry arses," Charles said with all the cocky surety a fourteen-year-old could possess, and a Shelby at that. Despite his seemingly composed appearance, Vicky noticed his eyes had gone glassy with unshed tears and pulled her little brother in for a hug.

Pressing a brief kiss onto his ruffled nest of dark hair, Vicky held him at arms length. "Remember to call every once in a while. And don't slack off at school, Papa might be an OBE but that doesn't mean you can go round and shoot ducks with Uncle Arthur and Billy and call that an education," she warned him, shooting a look at their cousin who stood aside with hands in his pockets and a cheeky grin on his face.

"Shooting game is a very valuable societal skill–ouch!" Her cousin squealed when she pinched his ear for good measure. Billy wasn't a bad boy, of course, but he tended to be more wild, always pulling Charles along whenever he was up to stir some trouble around town. Aunt Polly grumbled as of late, saying how much they reminded her of Tommy and Arthur when they were children.

"I'll swim back home just to wallop you over the ears, William Shelby."

After last two hugs for the boys Vittoria reached to take her cases — the ones with her more personal belongings, for the rest was hauled in the ship by her retinue — only to be stopped by Mrs. Rossi, their head housemaid. The woman pulled out an envelope, a letter, from her apron pocket and pressed it into Vittoria's hands.

"Your mother sends this to you. You will give it to a very important man called Vito Corleone, saying who it came from, _si_? He will take care of you, _bambina mia,"_ the woman said with a slight smile. Of course, her mother usually had a secret weapon for everything, thought Vicky with a smile and pocketed the letter.

It was no secret that her family dealt with the notorious Chicago gangster Al Capone almost two decades ago, in order to raze the Changretta family to the ground. From the American papers she could buy, she gathered America, too had quite the market for all sorts of shady business. A Shelby would surely fit in without an issue.

An incredible view cut off her trail of thought; an island appeared out of the fog, a green giant on the pedestal carrying a torch. She'd read about it, from one of the tourists books she bought from the ship's shop, though she hadn't bothered remembering all the details.

"That's the Statue of Liberty, miss," said a voice to her left, startling her. It was one of her escorts, _bodyguards_ , though she hated the prospect. What use was going a continent away if she could not have even a moment of freedom. "We'll be there soon, best you collect your cases."

Vittoria nodded silently, though not before she took another glance at the wondrous sights before her. An entire city spread out on the horizon, rising through the fog that had settled over the bay, with towers reaching to the sky unlike anything she had ever seen.

Perhaps some change would do her good.   
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**AS SOON AS HER FOOT** touched American soil an unfamiliar voice was calling out her name. One of her guards tensed beside her, alert, stepping closer to Vittoria with one hand on his gun.

"Miss Vittoria Shelby?"

A tall and handsome American was coming their way, both with an outstretched hand ready to shake hers and a charming smile plastered on his lips. Lowering his hat in a greeting he revealed a head full of blond hair, carefully slicked back in the very modern fashion she kept seeing in the papers.

Vittoria steeled herself, shaking his hand firmly. "It is I. And you are?"

"Richard Sterling, I'm the acting chief of the Shelby Company here in New York," he smiled, side-stepping to gesture at the small retinue that came to greet her. Vittoria allowed herself to be slightly impressed – such a high position for a man certainly not older than thirty. "These are some of the members of the board, here to welcome you officially to New York. May I present Samuel Ellis, he's an investment manager, and Johnny Golubski, chief advertising manager."

All three of the men Sterling presented looked awfully similar, though not in size or hight, but still with grey and black fedoras tipped over their slicked hair, and awful two toned shoes. The trio painted a laughable picture with Vicky silently concluding Americans most definitely did not keep the high standard of style as the Englishmen.

"Hello miss," they greeted politely, though she could feel their judging eyes scanning her appearance, "Welcome to New York."

One of them stepped out of the line with an air of self-importance radiating off of him in waves. "Grant Stevenson, chief financial advisor," he was a short fellow with a wide hat and kissed her hand in greeting, his bushy moustache scratching against her gloves.

"Good day," Vittoria cringed away subtly, shifting uncomfortably on her feet. She was certainly used to the attention – hell, she adored it, but only on her home terraine, where everyone played by her rules. "How do you do."

"We are delighted to have you finally here, miss. Looking forward to getting the company back on the track," Stevenson threw a look at the acting chief at the end, one that could only be described as unreserved loathing. Vittoria cleared her throat.

"In the name of my father, Thomas Shelby, I thank you for running the New York branch in absence of an appropriate chairman. Thankfully, I am now here and we should have a board meeting as soon as possible," she concluded with a sharp not of her head and adjusted her bag.

"Tomorrow, preferably. Good day, gentlemen."

Before they had time to register her words she was already walking ahead towards the exit and Sterling had to rush to catch up to her quick pace.

"I'll arrange for someone to take your luggage to Michael's house — well, I suppose it's your house now Miss Shelby," said the blond, steering her retinue towards the car park.

A bitter laugh almost escaped her lips. Would anything, ever truly be hers?

"Vittoria, please, we'll be working together," she thanked him politely when he opened the door of — presumably hers — chauffeured car. It many ways Vicky was her father's daughter and in extension she appreciated a fine car.

Vicky settled into the comfortable leather of the seat while Richard went sround to the other side. "Does that dreadful woman still live there? Cousin Michael said she signed the divorce papers, but he didn't specify if he got rid of her for good," she asked once the car started and they made their way out of the port.

"Diane moved out last month. She's most likely to come banging on the door for her share of Michael's fortune since we didn't do the official reading of the will." Diane was Michael's second wife, a wealthy heiress with a penchant for gambling, or so the papers liked to speculate. They had tied the knot a year before, seven years after the death of Michael's first wife, Gina. "I'll make sure we have men stationed around the building at all times."

Vittoria had held little love for Gina Gray, the pinch-faced, skinny thing that she was, and a venomous tongue, but she was tolerable, and the Shelby heiress was heartbroken when the news of her overdose came from the States. Diane Cormoran, on the other hand, was more of a trade deal than a proper wife, with her father being one of the main steel manifacturers on the continent.

"And where would that building be?"

"Mr Gray bought a house on the corner of Fifth Avenue and the 91st street, but we should also discuss if you'll be keeping the mansion on the Gold Coast and the Hamptons."

"Could someone draw up a list of Michael's possessions because I must admit, I didn't understand a word you just said," Vittoria faced him with a slight grin. "And a map perhaps."

Sterling chuckled heartily. "I'll have one of the secretaries do it," and propped his chin with his hand, keeping hisneyes trained on the passing sights. The brunette took the time to asses her companion; the cream and white suit he wore was obviously cut to his form, and it accentuated his honey hair and striking eyes. Maybe there was yet some hope for the Americans.

Vicky cleared awkwardly, composing herself. "Good, very good. How's the company been since the news?"

She could see Richard making a face from the corner of her eye. "It's been... challenging, to say at least. We'll have to pacify the board somehow. I'm not really sure how they'll react to an eighteen year old being the new head of the company," he paused to shoot her an apologetic look.

"No offence to you."

She simply waved him off. "That's why I have you, Robert, and that's why my father pays you. Make sure they are pacified, no matter how much that costs. We can't lose the position we have in New York."

A comfortable silence fell between them, both watching the endless stream of sky-high buildings stretch over the wide boulevards.

"I need to get in contact with the man called Vito Corleone. What do you know about him?"

It must have been a flash of light, but Vicky was sure the young man paled. "Vito Corleone? Like, _Don Vito Corleone_? Why would you do that, miss?" He faced her fully now, confusion knitting his brows.

"You have to know, he's the most powerful man in New York. Hell, I'd even say he's the most powerful man on this Coast. He owns the Genco Olive Oil Company, but that's not all to it," he revealed, voice dropping lower as if he was revealing something quite illicit.

"I'm familiar with that kind," Vicky retorted drily. "I'll need a driver willing to take me to him in the afternoon. I have business to discuss with him."

"Business with Corleone?" Richard pursed his lips, sighing in defeat. "I'll see what I can do. We're here."

She hadn't even noticed their car entering a closed yard, the iron fence closed behind them by two men in black uniforms. One of them was quick to cross the yard and open her car door while the other started to unload her luggage.

"Oh, it's... so different. And the park is just there, how wonderful." Endless greenery stretched on the other side of the street, reminding her of St. James park in London. She ducked her head immediately, cheeks heating up at her own silly reaction.

"You must think me dreadfully daft, marvelling at every sight, but I've never seen so much glass and iron in my life. And I've spent my childhood running around factories."

But he didn't laugh. "On the contrary, I find it very charming," Richard concluded, moving from the car and up to the front entrance.

"New York has that effect on people; it dazzles you with it's flashing signs and never ending streets, but it's a big city, you know. People get lost in it, in every possible way."

"A viper's den," Vittoria said quietly, heels clicking as they went up the marble stairs leading to the door.

"Exactly. Now, welcome to The Gray Estate." Heavy wooden doors opened from the inside, the flash of black and gold immediately enveloping her Vittoria's field of vision. At first glance Vittoria could spot the influence of art deco, the geometric lines stretching all over the space and furniture. But there was also something oppulent, a dashbof vanity she recognised from back home. Oriental vases and velvet drapery, mahogany furniture and ominous portraits that hung on the walls.

Robert led her up the polished staircase and into a vast sitting room that seemingly doubled as drawing room.

"Everything is more or less as it was when he left, except we had the maids stock up the fridge and pack his clothes so you don't have to. The numbers you might need are all in that blue notebook near the phone," Richard walked around the room, pointing at stuff and opening the curtains to let the sunshine in. She nodded, and hummed in agreement, already halfway asleep.

"How many staff are there in the house?" Asked she once she saw a maid coming round the corner and disappearing into the other room.

"I believe at least four maids and a cook, and two chauffeurs. If I remember correctly they are housed in the attic," Richard stuffed his hands in his pockets casually, cocking his head to the side.

"Anything else?"

Vittoria shook her head, still slightly dazed from her new surroundings. "No, Richard, thank you. Someone will call you up when I need you," she gave the blond man a smile which he readily returned.

"I'll see you soon, Miss Shelby. And please, it's Richie, we shouldn't be so formal." With a slight nod of his head and a tip of his hat, he was off through the grand doors they just came through.

Steps echoed in the distance, the roar of a car engine. Vicky took a deep breath and finally composed herself.

"Oh, _fuck_."

Suddenly alone in the house the brunette let out a sigh before removing the coat off her shoulders, throwing it on the sofa on her left. Her shoes came off next, followed by the sill scarf that was wrapped around her neck. Now barefoot, she tapped across the room to where the telephone sat on the desk. Vicky pulled the device into her lap, making herself comfortable on the carpet and started to turn the dial, a rhythm of familiar numbers steadying her shaking hand.

The process, line connecting, crackling, the wait. Polite voices of female operators passing her call from one line to another until it reached England. A cog in the great machinery that seemingly ran the world nowadays — truly, Vittoria could not understand a word concerning the technicalities.

"Connection to Milton Keynes. Bletchley, for Shelby."

"One moment please, ma'am. We'll transfer you to the safe line, number three."

Three seemingly endless beats of silence before someone finally took the call. " _Mamma_? What time is it there?" The line cracked and growled until Caterina Shelby's familiar drawl filled her ear, a comforting mixture of Italian lilt and strong Birmingham accent. A pang of homesickness passed through her.

"Vicky? It's breakfast time, I suppose," her words were interrupted by a long yawn, "I haven't slept a wink. Is everything alright? Did you arrive as expected?"

"No, yes, I mean.. I'm fine," the raven haired girl took a deep breath.

"You told me you were sixteen when you took over your family's company, when the First War started. I know the times were different then, and it's 1940 now, but...How do you do it?"

She could hear shuffling of papers and bedcovers on the other side. "Do what, _amore_?" Her mother's voice asked, almost jesting.

"How do you do _this_?" Vittoria gestures vaguely through the air, well aware her mother couldn't see it. "How do you make grown men listen to the words of an eighteen year old? I feel ridiculous, whatever can I say to them? They are at least two, if not three times older than me, much more experienced in finances and bureaucracy and law-"

"Vittoria Shelby, now you listen to me very carefully!" Came Caterina's sharp demand, shutting the girl up immediately.

"You learn, day by day. You think your father and I were just born and given what we wanted? _No_. You fight with your bare hands until you bleed and feel like giving up. And then you do it all over again the next day, even when people oppose you and threaten you. In the beginning and the end, you're a Shelby, and you're a Cardinale. What do I always tell you?"

"We are the Shelby's and Shelby's never ask for permission. We can, and we will," the girl recited half-heartedly, fiddling with the hem of her pleated skirt with pursed lips.

"That's right, my dear. And don't you ever think we sent you to America because we love you any less. We sent you because there is no one more capable than you."

Vittoria felt all the eighteen years of her life come crashing down on her shoulders, making her feel small and alone in the unknown, a world away from all she held dear. She slumped against the wall with exhaustion, letting her mother speak over the line, thankful she could not see the tears running down her cheeks.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts for first chapter?  
> the plot for the films doesn't  
> come till at least ch six  
> we're building a plot here   
> ladies and gentlemen !


	3. 𝐢.𝐢𝐢. 𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐨, 𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> vittoria meets the man she’s heard much about

**𝐢.𝐢𝐢. 𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐨, 𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚**

**THE LANDSCAPE CHANGED** once the car abandoned the buzzing streets of Manhattan and advanced through the colonnade of trees that led to Long Island. With a childish wonder Vittoria pressed her face against the glass, entranced by the novel scenery. This particular stretch of road was flanked by identical white houses, divided by seemingly endless green yards and charming picket fences.

It appeared almost artificially perfect.

The girl slumped back into the comforts of the backseat, averting her eyes to the chauffeur. He didn't look much older than her, but was smartly dressed in a thick black uniform with shinning buttons and epaulettes to match. The tassels stitched to it bounced with every new pothole the came across.

"Are you one hundred percent sure you know where we're going?"

"No worries, miss, I know this city like the back of my hand," chuckled the young man, swiftly turning right into a more densely built residential street.

They carefully entered the compound, down the street flanked by two-storey houses, all surrounded by high hedges. It ended with a cul-de-sac, with the largest house standing as the centerpiece at the top.

Vittoria noticed the chauffer's dealthly grip on the steering wheel even before he asked, "Are you sure, miss, about this? I wouldn't deal with the Corleone's if my life depended on it." A visible shudder ran through his body.

On the main entrance gate stood two guards, leaning on the metal and quietly talking until they spotted her imported Bentley.

Vicky leaned forward, positioning herself between the two front seats."If your life depended on it you would deal with me, son," with a clap to the young man's shoulder, she was already opening the car door. "You can stay out here, I'll walk down myself."

They closed with a bang behind her, cutting off his weak protests.

"Who goes there?" Came a sharp command from the gate, making Vicky raise her hands slightly, amused.

" _Mi chiamo Vittoria Shelby, figlia di Thomas e Caterina Shelby,_ " she announced, hoping the confidence in her voice wouldn't waver from the nerves, " _Avuto un appuntamento con Don Corleone."_

The two exchanged a look, one of them promptly walking down to the biggest of the houses beyond the fence. He emerged half a minute later, followed by a tall, lean man in a crisp gray suit that matched his receeding hairline.

The stranger, surely important by the air of brisk confidence he exuded, took a moment to asses her appearance, as if determining whether she posed any considerable danger. She was lucky to posses the youth and the looks to mask the more dishonest dealings she took part in for the family business.

"Right. Tessio," he finally nodded, making a motion with his head for her to follow inside, "Is it Shelby, like the Shelby cars?"

"The one and only," she replied, trying to keep up with his ling strides over the gravel that trailed to the main house.

As she looked up and around, taking in her surroundings, Vicky couldn't help but compare the stellar differences between her living and the one of the Corleone family. The Shelby's hosted lavish parties where champagne and scotch poured down the tables, and drove the newest sleek cars. They drank and gambled and bought hotels for the fun of it, and appeared at every important social event of the year.

Compared to her family, the Corleone mall appeared almost, for the lack of better word, humble. The houses were two or three storey high, red brick and black roof tiles, and oak trees provided shade on every side of the patio that led up to the great house. It had a homely, comfortable air, far from the sterile skyscrapers of the city and the identical white houses littering the rest of Long Island.

They were stopped again at the door of the house. Tessio turned to her. "Any weapons? We have to check."

She shook her head, "I have nothing to hide." Her gun, a piece of weapon she rarely parted from, stayed in the car, as a sign of respect towards the Don she was supposed to meet.

Despite her words, another guard stepped in to search her for anything she might have concealed on her body. Vicky made sure to stare him down while his hands went down the sides of her tweed suit jacket and matching skirt, making him spring away from her as soon as possible.

"Tutto bene."

With that they progressed deeper into the house. Quickly enough, Tessio spotted someone else before Vicky could see them, as he halted and waved them over.

"Hagen, the young lady says she has an appointment with the Don."

It was a good looking man in his thirties, clean shaven and well dressed, and looking over a stack of papers with particular interest. When he heard his name called he raised his head, a look of recognition passing over his face.

"Vittoria Shelby?" He stretched his hand out for a firm handshake, accompanied by a smile, "I'll tell the Don you're here. He's been expecting you."

With that he knocked on the double door of a study, promptly disappearing through them and leaving Vicky and Tessio alone in the corridor.

She let her eyes wander over the interior, the warm brown tones of wood and cream and flowery tapestry interchanging. There were even paintings on the wall, of a sea coast and olive orchards unfamiliar to her that spoke of another, but not forgotten time, and family photographs in black and white.

The brunette wondered if people felt the same when they waited to speak to her father, with the nervous tug in the gut and shaky, sweating fingers that itched to be wiped off the coarse fabric of her skirt. She had told herself a dozen of times on the way to Long Beach, she was a Shelby of Birmingham, and no man could intimidate her, no matter how powerful or important he was.

The doors open, and without thinking she followed Tessio into the study, finely decorated room where, at the head of the wide desk sat the man himself. Don Vito Corleone was everything and nothing like she expected him to be.

He must've been in his late fifties, with a high forehead and thin hair that must have been black once, but it was the calculating, seemingly scrutinising look that made her stand straight in her place.

"Don Corleone," she gave herself the liberty to walk over, and with all the grace she had, kissed the ring on his hand.

Her pride stung, but she would never admit it.

She was raised with a figurative golden spoon in her mouth, fed on the ideology of supremacy among the people that surrounded her each day. As a Shelby she learnt to take what she believed was her due; as a woman she learnt to stand her ground and demand for the world to step aside for her; as her mother's daughter she learnt how to stare down a grown man and make him pay for his sins.

Today, however, she was expected to bow her head and accept defeat.

"Vittoria Shelby. I welcome you to America," he spoke slowly, almost rasping. He turned to the tall man that brought her in.

"It's alright, Tessio."

The dissmisal certainly didn't sit right with him, as the other man pressed his lips in a thin line, but without a word nodded and turned to leave the room.

"Please, take a seat," the Don offered, and she took the one opposite of him. It was then she spotted Hagen on one of the chairs in corner, holding a pen and scribbling, likely taking notes on the meeting.

Don Vito leaned back into his chair, folding his hands over his chest. "I hope you had a pleasant trip. The Atlantic can be very troubling in the spring."

"I can't complain too much," she admitted lightly, "The first class salon was very entertaining. Though I am more than happy to be on solid ground again." Truthfully, she hoped she wouldn't have to step on a ship for a considerable time, but she was sure it would be far too crude to say she spent most of her travels intoxicated on the open bar of the Golden Lounge in order to numb the perpetual swaying of the damned thing.

Then, she reached into the inside pocket of her suit jacket, remembering the letter she was there for.

"From my mother," she elaborated, placing it on the table for him.He took it, reading it with a firm crease between his brows. Once he was done, he folded it neatly, stood up and placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder. Vittoria blinked up at him, trying to make sense of it all.

She never asked her mother what the letter said, Vicky realised some years down the line, but it seemed to hold enough to make Don Vito Corleone take her in as if she was one of his own.

The look in the Don's eyes softened slightly, as if he was remembering something very fondly, "You look very much like your mother did when she was your age. Except your eyes, those are from your father," he said, returning back to his seat.

"You can inform your mother that you have a new Godfather now." From a young age Vittoria was aware of the importance of the figure of a godfather in her mother's heritage. Upon her birth, it was Uncle Michael who became her godfather, and held her in the church of St. Andrew during her baptism, swearing to always protect her from the wrongs of the world. She remembered him very fondly from her childhood, the soft features of his face that reminded her of Aunt Polly, and all the presents he brought for Christmas from the States.

She kept writing to him even after the great falling out between him and father, and continued to do so until he was dispatched for France.

Her attention returned to the Don, now standing at the window, arms crossed behind him. He spoke in the same raspy voice as before, words laced with thought, "My family is very important to me, as it should be to any man or woman of honour. A family protects their own, every single member in equal measure. I am not a complicated man, I don't ask for much but mutual trust and agreement in both business of the street and of home,"

"When I came to America as a small child, after seeing atrocities and having them done to me, I swore to make this place a good one for my family, keep them safe, give them a bright future," he turned around to look at her pointedly, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly,

"I will not have anything compromise it. There are things for me unnecessary to get involved with, business that would taint my family name and go against all the values I upheld through my life."

Thus, her safety in New York came with a steep price: the Shelby family would cease their business in drugs in America. The impact it would have on their finances was sure to be grave, but it was a price Thomas and Caterina Shelby were more than willing to pay for the safety of their only daughter in an unknown land. The legal side of business — supply of luxurious cars and car parts — would still remain and flourish, as would the flow of gin and scotch still smuggled in the very same containers that shipped car parts across the Atlantic.

She sat like a child, taking in his every word — you are a child, Vicky, she chastised herself. Just because you were raised to keep a knife under your pillow and glance behind your back doesn't mean others have.

"Tom, tell my wife we'll be having an addition to the table." The man nodded, closing his books and placing them in the leather briefcase by his feet.

"Don Corleone, I wouldn't wish to intrude—" She attempted to protest, very well knowing it will be shot down.The Don waved them off immediately, gesturing for her to follow him out of the study.

"Nonsense, it's an opportunity for you to meet the children. Michael is the only one not here, he's off at Darthmouth College, but he'll be home for Christmas," Don Vito explained as they walked through the wide corridors of his house. They stopped every couple meters for him to show off a photograph on the wall ( " _That's my oldest, Santino, on the day he learnt to shoot_." ) or to name the room they were passing by.

Suddenly, a form appeared from the doorway on the left and Vicky was pulled aside a charming looking lady in a flowery apron and greying hair neatly coiffed upon her head.

"My wife, Carmella," Vito elaborated, nearly getting cut off by his wife.

" _Che bella! Tu hai fame? Ma come magra, Santo Dio!_ " The gentle woman fired questions in rapid Italian, tugging Vittoria along into the next room which appeared to be a dinning room.

" _Siedi, siedi_ ," she showed her the seats around the table, "Dinner in ten minutes."

" _Grazie_ , Signiora Corleone," she said, overwhelmed by the sudden burst of affection from the woman.

It brought a chuckle to other woman's lips, stretching into a bashful smile, " _No, no signiora Corleone! Dimmi — Mamma Carmela_." And with that she hurried away, muttering about a forgotten bread, presumably in the direction of the kitchen. It was yet another thing she found curious about this family, that the mother cooked for them. 

A tall man in his thirties was leaning over the papers on the table, and Vicky had to look up when he his attention was diverted and shuffled closer to them.

"Pops, who's this?" He asked, voice deep and rough. The Don took the liberty to introduce her himself.

"Vittoria Shelby. You know the Shelby Company Limited that has the American branch here in New York."

"As of today I am her Godfather." With a pat to her shoulder, the Don disappeared after his wife into the kitchen, leaving Vittoria in the dining room with his son.

Vicky looked up to the beast of a man, finding a wide grin growing across his thick lips. His firm, calloused hand grasped one of hers without warning, shaking it with earnest sincerity, "Santino Corleone, but everyone calls me Sonny. I'm the oldest, and the best."

"You also have a wife, Sonny," piped up a mocking voice from behind them. In the doorway stood a shorter man with a high forehead and oily black hair, which reminded Vicky of the Don himself. Certainly, this was one of the brothers. At his side was Hagen, the man from her meeting.

The eldest of the two scowled at his brother, "Shut up, Fredo."

The man in question simply chuckled, swaggering over to where Vittoria was standing, "I'm Fredo, nice to meet you." He wasn't a looker, with the thin whisps of moustache on his upper lip and a head too large for his body, but there was sinceirity in his voice and eyes Vicky approved off.

"Likewise. I'm Vittoria," she replied cordialy, making sure to glance over Fredo's shoulder where Hagen still remained.

The familiar man gave her a slight wave and took his place at the table, "Tom Hagen, we've met. I was adopted by the Don."

She made a count of the people in the room and couldn't help but notice that chair between Fredo and Tom was left empty,

"There's one more, right?" The question must have struck a particularely sore spot for both Sonny and Fredo, whose faces turned into a grimace.

"Yeah, our Mike traded his nice living here for some pezzonovante college. Bah! Don't see the point," mumbled Sonny, reaching for the decanter of red wine on the table and pouring himself a hefty glass.

"He'll come home for Christmas, you'll like him. He's a bit shy, but stubborn as a bull."

A high pitched girl's voice "Who's this?" A girl no older than her had ascended down the staircase and into the dinning room, a lovely creature with wide clear eyes and wild tresses that fell down her chest. She was half frowning, half pouting in the direction of her brothers, waiting for an explanation.

"Connie, meet Vittoria, she's ours now," Sonny piped up from his spot, making the British girl chuckle for the first time since she arrived. She could feel her worry disappating by the passing minute, inexplicably comfortable in the presence of these strangers.

"Oh yeah?" The girl drawled out her vowels, pursing her lips in interest, "I'm Connie, come sit next to me," the brunette did not waste time and pulled Vittoria with her. The Shelby girl found herself squished between Connie and Santino, trying to answer the rapid fire of questions coming from the only Corleone daughter.

"You from Europe? What's that like?"

"Well, our buildings are definitely smaller," Vicky paused to think, "I can't say yet, I've been in New York for only a few hours."

A loud laugh erupted from Connie, corners of her eyes crinkling with mirth, "Look she's got that fancy British accent! I love it."

"How come you have an Italian name, but your last name is Shelby?" It was Fredo who asked the question this time.

"My mother's family are Greco's of Palermo. I guess that makes me part Sicillian."

"The Greco's are still very influential. You might find some distant cousins here in New York," Tom added helpfully.

"That's enough to make you one of us," Sonny slapped her shoulder jovially, nearly knocking the air out of her lungs. "You'll fit right in."

"Santino, don't harass the young lady." The Don had appeared at the entrance to the dinning room, taking a seat at the head of the table. Carmela Corleone rushed a moment later, holding a big clay bowl with several tea towels.

"Mangiate, mangiate!" She announced proudly, setting it down on the table. A rich, fragrant smell of tomato and red meat filled the room, making Vicky's stomach rumble. When everyone finally settled around the table, food for a moment untouched, the Don raised a hand for silence.

" _Grazie Dio, per I frutti del nostro lavoro..."_

They never prayed before a meal back home. To be frank, Vicky reckoned she couldn't recite a prayer from start to finish. The only remotely religious person was aunt Polly, but she never forced Vicky or her brother to attend the Sunday service.

That evening, in the home of Don Vito Corleone, exchanging questions and sipping on strong Italian wine, Vicky took these people to heart and hoped they would stay there for many years to come. 

**TOM OFFERED TO WALK HER TO HER CAR** , which was now parked inside the courtyard where her chauffer sat on the hood and chatted to the Corleone men that stood guard.

Vicky pulled the suit jacket tighter around her shoulders, easily falling into step with the man. Night had fallen a long time ago, but the Corleone's would simply not let her go before she had a coffee and several biscotti after the divine dish Carmela prepared, and agreeing to Connie's persistent requests for an outing in the city.

"What do you do in the family, since you were there for my meeting with Don Vito?"

"I'm a lawyer by profession, but one day I might even become a consigliere," there was a melancholic smile toying with the corner of his lip, disappearing as soon as he shook his head.

"It's a wild dream, since I'm not Italian born."

Vicky couldn't help but frown. Tom seemed like an honourable man, as for as that term went in their profession, and undoubtedly loyal to the family, "You're Italian raised, I don't see the problem."

"There are traditions, rules that have to be followed. Our system here works a bit different than yours back in England, am I right?"

Vicky shrugged slightly, "A lot different.. Easier, I think. At least it always seemed like it for my parents. But everything comes down to family again, in both countries."

"You'll have to learn a lot, in a short amount of time if you want to survive New York, but Don Vito is now your Godfather. You don't have to worry about a thing." They lapsed into silence again, the only sound being the gravel crunching underneath the soles of their shoes.

"So I'm safe?"

"Completely safe," he promised her. Vicky wished she could believe him, she truly did. But no one could entirely guarantee her safety, not with the blood that ran through her veins.

"I'll see you in the morning, then."

Her brows furrowed in confusion, "What?"

"You're having your first board meeting, so I'll be there as your lawyer to represent your interest and back your case," they stopped by the entrance gate where her car patiently waited. Tom pushed his hands into the pockets of his suit pants, giving her an assuring smile. "You're one of us now, Shelby."

"I suppose I am," Vittoria smiled, wrapping her arms around her waist. Her chauffeur was already turning on the engine.

"Thanks, Hagen. Good night."


End file.
